Raised by Strippers - A Trans Story
Copyright© 2021 by Shirley Wanton
Chapter 1
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 1 - This is the story of the son of a stripper, raised in the dressing rooms of strip clubs and evolving into the Trans woman she was always meant to be.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Consensual BiSexual CrossDressing TransGender Fiction Anal Sex Exhibitionism Oral Sex
Hi, my name is Sam. It used to be short for Samuel, but now it is short for Samantha. I guess you can see where this is going. This change did not happen after some great memorable, life-defining moment. Rather, it was a slow evolution over years and I never even realized a change occurred. I know, that sounds impossible, but you have to understand my childhood to appreciate this. You see, I was raised by strippers.
Raised by strippers? What the HELL does that mean? Well, I am the only child of a woman named Channel. No that is not her real name. It is her stage name, but really the only name I knew her by as I was growing up. I knew that her real name was Evelyn, but nobody ever called her that, especially in the dressing rooms of strip clubs, where I spent so much of my early years.
I know what you are thinking. Spending so much time in the dressing rooms, where sexy, exotic women were always naked or dressing in erotic clothing, you are the luckiest guy in the world. Well, that is what almost ALL of my male friends always said. They never understood that it was just where I hung out. It was like the living room, where I sat around and did my home work and talked about my day. The people around me were not strippers to me. They were my extended family. They were the people I talked about my problems with, the people I came to for advice or compassion, when life knocked me down.
Maybe it was this lack of identification of female eroticism with sexuality, that shaped my own sexual identity or maybe it was just that I was born this way. I do not wish to get involved in the debate about nature versus nurture. I only want to tell my story, and you can draw your own conclusions. I have learned from countless arguments about this, that people will draw their own conclusions anyway. So, why bother? But, back to my story.
So, here I am spending almost all of my developmental years with only strippers for role models. I learned early on, how to apply make up, how to match the perfect wig with a certain outfit, how to move sexily in heels. You know, all the essential skills a boy needs to succeed in life. I laugh now, at how I thought all of this was normal, but at the time, I never knew anything else. Helping Aunt Sapphire touch up her face or grabbing a sequined G-string for Aunt Jade, was just an average evening at my “house”.
Obviously, this was not my whole life. I did go to school and interacted with other kids my age. However, I was a shy kid, small for my age, and not good at making friends. So, most days, I just tried to get through the day, so I could run back to my safe space, and share my day with my “family”. School life was not difficult to deal with, it was just that I was more comfortable at the clubs. My life at school was interesting and many times even fun, until it wasn’t.
I don’t know how it is for other people, but there is a point when we go from feeling like everyone is my friend, to the feeling that everyone hates me. It also coincides with the transition to adult bodies and the hormonal and emotional issues that go with that. As I noticed more and more of my peers getting taller and stronger, I felt like I was being left behind. I was slightly built to start with, and I never seemed to get that growth spurt that made all of the other guys look more like men and less like children. It added to my feelings of not fitting in and feeling like I was definitely not like them.
Thank GOD, I could come come to my stripper family, where I felt normal. Yes, most of the women had large breasts, often augmented, but they were also mostly slight and feminine. I felt more like them and the girls at school, than I did like my male peers. They also accepted me and encouraged me to do what made me feel good.
Unfortunately for me, what made me feel good, was to dress in their costumes and pretend I was someone else. When I was dressed, I didn’t feel like the misfit I was at school. I felt like the confident performer, who could dance in front of crowds of cheering guys and have them begging to be with me. It got to the point where I needed to put on at a sexy bra and panty set or sexy lingerie, to get the sense of empowerment and confidence, that I lacked when I wore my boy clothes. It got so bad, that I needed to start wearing at least a pair of panties under my clothes, just to feel normal and get through the day.
I never thought much about sexuality growing up, but apparently all of my peers spent a LOT of time thinking about this. Even though I didn’t feel wrong wearing women’s underwear under my clothes, I did take precautions, like waiting until I was alone in the locker room before changing, etc. I was aware enough to know that, even though my stripper family accepted my choices, my peers at school would NOT. I got validation of this on the fateful day that I was running late to get to gym class and carelessly pulled down my pants with a few other guys around.
Even with all the other activities, conversations, and people hurriedly getting dressed, a pair of pink lace panties can make time stop. My first indication of trouble was when the guy down the aisle from me stopped like he was frozen and stared. Then there was another guy elbowing his buddy and pointing at me. Then after what seemed like an hour of silence, the jeering started. “What the FUCK? Are those girl’s panties?” “Look at the fag.” “I always thought something was off with that one.” I am sure there was more, but I yanked my pants back up and ran out of the locker room as fast as I could. I never stopped to ask permission, but just ran from the school and all the way home.
My real home, you sickos. Did you think I actually lived at the strip club? Of course, I couldn’t wait to get to the club later with my mom. I needed to feel normal again. I needed to have people I loved, tell me that I am not a freak. That there is nothing wrong with needing to dress in women’s clothes. They were amazing, comforting and consoling me between their numbers and when they were not performing private dances, etc. They always made time for me when they could. they were also not afraid to ask me the hard questions.
“Do you just feel comfortable wearing girls clothes or do you actually feel like a girl?” “Have you been with a girl?” Do you want to?” “Have you been with a boy?” “Do you want to?”
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